Captive Page 13

  ‘I enjoy this,’ Aisla told her, ‘think, Sulitea Mund, High Demoiselle, nude on her knees for a spanking. Listen to your bells ring, Sulitea, the bells in your nipples and your belly and your wet tuppenny. Feel my axe in your hole and the burning where I’ve slapped you, me, just a maid.’

  ‘Keep on, ‘Sulitea begged, her fingers working hard in her sex.

  ‘No,’ Aisla answered. ‘You are a greedy slut and a spoilt brat, demanding all the attention, even if it is for your own humiliation. Would Polia have indulged you like this? No. She’d have smacked your face and your fat titties and your fatter bottom, but then she’d have made you kiss her ring and lick her sex, which is what I’m going to do, Sulitea Mund, I’m going to make you lick my bottom hole clean…’

  Sulitea screamed in ecstasy, coming so abruptly that it took Aisla by surprise. Jamming the axe deep up Sulitea, Aisla finished the spanking with a salvo of hard slaps, at once excited and angry, delighting in her command of the haughty girl yet also feeling that it was she who was truly being used.

  As soon as Sulitea’s orgasm had run its course, Aisla rolled her and climbed on top, posing her bottom over her friend’s face. Sulitea gave a resigned groan. Squatting down, Aisla spread her cheeks to present Sulitea with a close-up view of her anus. She relaxed, letting the little hole pout, then held her pose, drawing out the exquisite moment when her lover knew that she was going to have to kiss a bottom ring but had yet to make the final surrender. Sulitea gave a groan of mingled bliss and misery and a savage delight welled up in Aisla.

  ‘Kiss it,’ Aisla demanded and immediately Sulitea’s soft lips brushed her anus, then again and a gentle tongue tip began to explore her sensitive anal crevices. She let go of her bottom and felt the cheeks slap into Sulitea’s face, then lowered herself a little, settling some of her weight onto her lover’s face to complete the queening. Sulitea began to lick more firmly and to probe the little hole, darting her tongue in and out.

  ‘Good girl,’ Aisla sighed, ‘that’s right, lick me clean, clean my bottom ring you little slut, good and deep, and I’ll frig in you face. Yes, like that, oh yes.’

  Sulitea’s tongue had burrowed deep into her anus. Aisla, with her orgasm already building in her head, relaxed completely, triumph and an ecstatic dominance building in her head as Sulitea gave a muffled sob. Aisla came, laughing even as she did so and squirming her naked bottom in Sulitea’s face, her anus gaping wide.

  Aisla awoke to the sound of a bell at some distance. Sulitea’s body was warm against her, one leg and a buttock cold were the rug had shifted. As she turned her flesh came into contact with the stone of the slab, which was colder still. She shivered and tugged the rug close to her chin. Again the bell sounded and she forced herself up onto one elbow. For a moment she listened, but no more sound came. Beside her Sulitea’s back was showing, with a tumble of blonde curls at the nape of her neck and the gentle groove over her spine leading down towards her bottom. Aisla smiled to herself, thinking of the night before.

  ‘Cuddle me, Aisla, I’m cold,’ Sulitea demanded sleepily.

  Aisla’s smile grew broader and she reached down to stroke her lover’s hair. Sulitea shifted, the rug falling clear of her full breasts. A familiar warmth stirred in Aisla and she reached out, taking a plump globe in each hand. Sulitea purred as Aisla began to fondle her, pushing out her chest in response. A noise sounded from behind them and Aisla quickly dropped Sulitea’s breasts, turning to find the door swinging open. Sulitea tried to cover herself but too late, and Aisla found her mouth twitching into an embarrassed smile as a small, bearded man came into the hut.

  His eyes met hers, showing shock, then anger, then an insensate hatred as he screamed and hurled himself forward, brandishing a long hammer. Aisla ducked and rolled from the block as the hammer crashed to the stone where she had been and Sulitea screamed. The man cursed and swung the hammer up, calling out in fury as others pressed in behind him with angry exclamations as they saw the girls.

  Aisla jumped back, clutching for the axe. Her hand found the shaft and she jerked it up, catching the man’s second hammer blow. For a moment the hammer head jammed and Aisla twisted, wrenching it from the man’s grasp. She stepped away, lifting a hand, only to hear Sulitea scream as another, bigger man caught her by the hair. He lifted his hammer but she caught it, struggling to hold him away. Aisla brought the axe around, catching the smaller man as he reached for the hammer and shearing his head from his shoulders. Letting the air lift the blade she whirled, catching Sulitea’s attacker in the side. A third man stood in the doorway, hesitant with his hammer half raised, then running as Aisla darted the bloodstained axe towards him.

  Two quick steps took Aisla through to the door. She ducked, swept the axe out in a short arc and jumped out into the cold sunshine. Beneath her the mountainside stretched down, with the man running and hopping at full tilt across the coarse grass and scree towards the distant village, yelling as he went. She turned, only to find the dead tree standing vacant. Beyond, scattered across the saddle of the mountain, were the camels.

  Screaming for Sulitea to follow, she ran towards the nearest of the beasts, which was placidly chewing the cud a good quarter league across the slope. Behind her Sulitea called out in panic and Aisla paused, finding her friend staggering beneath the weight of the things they brought into the hut. Below them men were pouring from the village in a hysterical mob, waving mattocks and sickles and screaming threats and curses. Aisla ran for the camel, ignoring Sulitea’s entreaties, mounted it and managed to get it on its feet with curses and kicks to its flanks.

  It responded sluggishly, still chewing as it began to amble back towards where Sulitea was struggling over the rocky ground. Ignoring the distant threats and demands to stop, Aisla swung Sulitea up over the camel’s neck and dug her heels in, abandoning the other beasts. The mob came after, howling with a demented fury that redoubled when they reached the hut. By then Aisla and Sulitea were high on the slopes, hearing the threats and curses only as distant noise on the wind. They rode on, determined to outdistance all possible pursuit, not stopping until they had reached a sheltered gulch of stunted olive, cork and grey sequacia.

  ‘They are madmen, feroces!’ Sulitea declared as she dismounted.

  ‘Did we offend somehow?’ Aisla queried

  ‘We did nothing!’ Sulitea answered. ‘True, they saw my titties. We might have expect them to demand their cocks attended to. Even if they had ravished us on the spot I would understand them, but to attack like that!’

  ‘They cannot be human!’ Aisla agreed.

  Sulitea took a swallow from a water-skin and began to dress, Aisla doing the same and finding her sense of panic dying as she performed the familiar actions. Pride replaced it at the speed and effectiveness of her actions, and she imagined her father beaming happily and patting her on the head, then providing advice how she could have improved her technique.

  ‘Do you suppose they had any rank?’ she asked as Sulitea’s head appeared from the neck hole of the burnouse.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Some sort of guard maybe, to carry hammers on the open mountain. I shall list them as warriors for you, and declined to mention the age or size of the first.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Aisla replied.

  ‘Which makes four warriors, although Kroth, I suspect was something more. I had heard the name in councils, Prince Ythor referred to him as a hero.’

  ‘A hero?’ Aisla queried. ‘How, when yet alive?’

  ‘The Prince was making a dark joke, perhaps,’ Sulitea answered, ‘and an ironic one, as Kroth slew him. Anyway, both are heros now, with Kroth’s name on your escutcheon. Cut down by a girl! In the feast hall they must be laughing!’

  There was pride in Sulitea’s voice, and Aisla found herself smiling and blushing. She began to check the saddle bags as Sulitea took another swallow of water. Her choice of camel had
been lucky, with a full water skin at either side and a bag of valuables including the inlaid clasps they had taken from Prince Ythor and Kroth.

  ‘We have water for perhaps three days,’ she told Sulitea. ‘No food, but there are olives and perhaps other fruit.’

  ‘What if we meet more madmen?’ Sulitea asked.

  ‘We must do our best to avoid them. What else can we do?’

  Sulitea shrugged but made no answer. Aisla began to pick olives, browsing as she went. They were tough and sour, but plentiful, and she managed to fill a bag made by cutting the hem of her burnouse with the axe and tearing a piece free. Returning to Sulitea, they munched olives together, each thinking her private thoughts.

  ‘What we need,’ Sulitea mused after some time, ‘is some of that elixir you had at Kavas-Arion.’

  ‘I have none,’ Aisla answered, ‘and besides, even if we could obtain the ingredients it is foolish to tamper with the concerns of witches. Who knows what the consequences might be?’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I have read of these things in the library at Thieron. It is all a matter of process. In general there is a primary ingredient, others being included to balance its effect. Still others are included simply for flavour, and neutral substances may be included to confuse the ignorant. There are also activants, which serve as catalysts to otherwise neutral mixtures. What was in yours?’

  ‘The sperm of an enraged troll, black mandrake, chevrotain milk, cherry juice, leather, chewed separately,’ Aisla recited.

  ‘In what proportions?’

  ‘Talithea did not say.’

  ‘Hmm, the troll sperm is evidently the primary, the leather acting as activant. The cherry juice is clearly a flavouring, no more. The mandrake I suspect is a mere blind, a substance of esoteric significance to evoke foreboding among the unlettered. Likewise the chevrotain milk…’

  ‘This is not so,’ Aisla interrupted. ‘Chevrotain milk has potency. Its use is one of the secrets of my vocation.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I should not say.’

  What? Here, by the Red Parch, pursued by the deranged?’

  ‘This is to the side, but as you are not maiden I might say. Chevrotain milk is given to high-born girls from puberty. It calms your lust. Elethrine always hated it.’

  ‘I also. It is thin and sour. My nurses often had to threaten the cane before I would take it. So it is likely to be a balancing agent, perhaps to reduce lust engendered by the troll’s sperm. It is not indispensable to the elixir. Do you suppose there are trolls hereabouts?’

  ‘Perhaps, it might be too dry, but that is to the side. How do you propose to milk a troll of his sperm, much less an enraged one?’

  ‘I do not. Do you really imagine, I, the daughter of a royal earl, could submit myself to a troll? I have been you lover, but you must respect my rank. You will do it, and as to enraging him, I will think of something presently.’

  ‘I…,’ Aisla began and stopped, reflecting that however sweet and pliable Sulitea might be during sex she was still the haughty high-demoiselle at heart.

  With no troll at hand it seemed fruitless to argue the point and she contented herself with a shake of her head. Returning to more practical tasks, she checked the camel’s gear and climbed to a nearby crag. All around her a wilderness of peaks. Chasms and great barren slopes stretched away, north, south and east to the horizon, broken in the west to show the distant glimmer of the sea. Only a few sparse trees where visible, and these in hollows, although to the north larger patches of green were visible against the red rock of the mountains. Of the men who had pursued them there was no sign and she decided the chase must have been abandoned as hopeless. She returned to Sulitea, who was seated on a rock, still gnawing olives.

  ‘No trolls,’ she announced, ‘and no madmen. I suggest we continue north for An-Jhorai and keep to high ground.’

  Sulitea nodded and they set off, with Aisla leading the camel. For the rest of the day they moved slowly north, keeping to shelter and shade as much as possible. Sulitea continued to discuss trolls and insisted on Aisla looking into caves and copses of sequacia in the hope of finding one, a job Aisla complied with reluctantly. Despite her misgivings it was impossible not to think of how she had felt under the influence of the elixir.

  With the sun starting to sink down to the western horizon they reached a basin between two peaks and were delighted to find a small tarn among a grove of gnarled, stunted chestnut. The silence was absolute, the place invested with an air of peace and more loneliness even than the open mountain, but as Aisla guided the camel down the slope she caught a hint of thick, musky scent. She stopped, thinking of goblins, half-scared, half-wanton at the thought of how she could expect to be used if they caught her. Sniffing the air again she decided the scent was not that of goblins, which brought a pang of regret immediately followed by one of shame.

  ‘What is the matter?’ Sulitea asked. ‘Can you smell something? Could there be a troll?’

  ‘A bear perhaps,’ Aisla answered, nervously scanning among the trees for signs of life.

  Nothing moved. The trees stood immobile in the still air, the tarn unruffled by any breeze, a perfect mirror reflecting the blue of the sky and the red and grey of the surrounding rocks. She looked again, beyond the tarn to where a single dark grey rock stood among a cluster of red boulders, and as she looked it moved, unfolding, stretching, to become a large, very obviously male troll.

  Sulitea screamed, the camel bolted and Aisla was jerked from her feet to sprawl face down among the rocks. As she scrambled up she heard an angry bellow from behind her. Her foot slipped, sending her sprawling face down on the steep ground. A loud splash sounded behind her and she struggled to rise. She made it, only to find the troll almost on her. With a desperate lunge she tried for the top of the slope, fell, landed in a kneeling position and the next moment her ankle had been seized in an unbreakable grip.

  The troll began to draw her in, grunting and muttering strange half-words, ignoring her screams and struggles. Her burnouse was torn off her bottom with a single motion, exposing her. His huge hands fastened to her hips, so large that the thumbs were pressing down her buttocks and the fingers touching across her belly. Fear welled up in her, only for something firm to nudge her bottom. She felt a desperate relief that he was not simply going to crush her, then shock as an impossibly large cock head jammed into the mouth of her vagina.

  The troll grunted and pushed. She felt her vagina begin to fill, his huge cock stretching her open, filling her until she was wide eyed and gasping. Then the whole, fat bulk of his erection was in and he had began to fuck her, using a firm, deliberate motion that drove all thoughts of trying to stop it happening from her mind. Her breasts began swinging as she was fucked, making her nipples pop out as they brushed the rocks and foliage beneath her. He had lifted her, leaving her long legs clear of the ground, splayed out to either side of his torso as he drew her body back and forth on his erection, grunting each time it was slammed into her body. Each shove sent a wave through her and jammed her bottom against his front, slapping her buttocks as if being spanked and fucked simultaneously.

  She had lost all control, thrashing and writhing on the huge cock, gasping and clutching at the ground until she was sure she would faint, only for the troll to give one final shove that seemed to jam her womb into her throat and then come. Aisla gave a choking cry as her vagina suddenly filled to capacity with troll’s sperm and then it had burst out around his cock, spraying her thighs and his belly. He grunted, pulled his cock out and dropped her, then simply ambled off.

  Full control of her body returned only slowly, and in a welter of emotions. She had been ravished by a wild troll and every muscle from her waist to her knees ached. Yet she was alive and uninjured. Part of her wanted to feel used and horribly ashamed, but was overridden by relief and pride in what she had ma
naged to take. Talithea had had sex with Simooth, but Simooth was tame and used to sex with nymphs. Her troll was wild and bigger still, a true mountain troll, and she had taken its cock.

  All this went through her head as she crawled up the bank. At the top she turned, finding the troll standing in the centre of the tarn, casually washing his genitals. He gave her an unreadable look, perhaps warning, perhaps curiosity, perhaps some lust. She scrambled away as fast as she could, walking and then running across the mountainside until she saw where Sulitea had managed to bring the camel under control a good league along the slope. Sulitea waved and Aisla slowed to a walk, her body stiff with exhaustion. Several times she looked back, but there was no sign of the troll.

  ‘There,’ Sulitea remarked as Aisla came up with her, ‘you have discovered the answer. Simply invade the territory of a male troll and he will become enraged. Flaunt your bottom and he will mate you. How much sperm did you get?’

  For days they continued through the mountains, picking their way among bare peaks, never daring to approach the sea. Occasionally they would cross some high spur or boulder field, from which the coast could be seen far away and below. Several times they glimpsed villages, always with a square white hut on a nearby hill. Sometimes humans could be seen, working placidly among fields and on beaches, showing no evidence of madness or unreasonable ferocity.

  With their hunger growing it became increasingly hard to resist approaching. Sulitea reasoned that the village near which they had been attacked might have been an isolated colony of maniacs. Aisla was more cautious but equally hungry. More and more she found herself thinking of the old perfume vial Sulitea had given her for the troll’s sperm, and which now nestled safely in her vagina. If the effect worked as before, a quick raid and retreat would be easy, while the memory of how she had felt at the celibentuary was also compelling.